Wormwood
by RenaRoo
Summary: COMPLETE! An old enemy has long been dead but the turtles may not be done with him just yet. Ghostly Halloween Special. Third Place for Best Horror of the 2009 Fanfiction Competition.
1. I am

Don't know where this came from – you'll have to forgive me XD;

Oh, well, I've had stranger reasons for writing stories.

TMNT, characters © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**Wormwood**

They call me bitter.

This unreality, this blissful nexus where I remain contains others with the same amount of inexistence as I do. They are an unreal as I am yet we are aware of each other. We all gaze at the same dying orbiting body. We all watch those we have left behind on it.

I watch not friends and family, though.

I see my foes.

They walk around on the earth with charming white smiles beneath their abnormal green lips. Their slit, pupil less eyes gaze around their reality. They laugh together, toy with each other. They prove their existence without fault.

And I **hate** them for it.

I see their joyous natures, their abilities, their living. I seethe with jealousy.

It is unfair. They live after I die. They are not even supposed to exist. I was once great. I was once mighty. I was once the **Shredder**.

I recall the sting of defeat at these mutations' hands. I remember the shame placed upon me by their hideous battling and my grave underestimation of them. They were my murderers. They were the monsters. I cannot live now.

"You are bitter," whispers the disembodied voices among me.

"You must release this rage," another determines.

"You must," the next agrees, "if ever the abyss you seek."

They are wrong, however. I have released myself into a higher form. A more consumed form. I am now unrelenting. I am now the all consuming flame. I am the monster that is within all forms.

No longer am I the mortal Saki. No longer am I the defeated and disgraced.

I am **wormwood.**

…

A/N: …I don't know if I'll continue this or not. I'm in a Halloween type mood I guess.


	2. Faded

At this point in my lucid writing career I have decided that it would be best if I quit my late night horror movies and crime shows. Yup. It would keep many of these bunnies from nipping at me I do believe.

So, for the time being, while my muse is alive and I'm in a Halloween spirit, this story will be continued.

TMNT, characters © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**Wormwood  
**Chapter Two

I watch them return home, jealously watching their breaths, their movements. I take in all the things they can do that my spirit is no longer capable of in its current, hostless form. I realize that they are unaware of how watched they are. I know that they are unaware of what **danger** they are in.

They have not a clue what can and shall await them soon.

The one named Michelangelo laughs obnoxiously, filled with his own sense of joy. He twirls his nunchaku disrespectfully. I feel my soul withering at his blatant disregard for true ninjitsu.

"We're gonna be going to a Haunted House!" he laughs. "I can't wait! I've always wanted to go to one!"

I grin at the irony. They are already in one.

"You'll be the first one to run out screaming, Mike," the Sai wielder retorts.

"I beg to differ!" the other complies. "I've been watching the Slash-a-Thon for two weeks on the t.v. to get ready for this!" he explains enthusiastically. "I can even watch 'Nightmare on Elm Street' now without having nightmares, can't I, Leo?"

I watch the leader stand beside the quiet, fourth brother. The leader has on a scowl. He, oddly enough, is the most tolerable in the sense of a true ninja. He is also the one I despise the most for just that reason.

"I'm still not sure if the Haunted House by April's house is a good call," he mutters lowly. "Just because Master Splinter has gone to the farm for some enlightenment does not mean that the rules no longer apply."

"Yar not pullin' out, are ya, **Fearless?**" Raphael snorts.

"You said we could do it on Halloween, Leo," the meek Donatello agrees. "Everyone will think we're in costume and April and Casey said they would go with us to keep from any questioning."

Leonardo was not impressed. But he is not as much in control as he would like to believe. I can see that he is not a true leader or warrior. He caves to his subordinates' wills. "I'm not... I'm just not sure if Master would be alright with it."

"Oh, forget it, Leo," Michelangelo laughs with a wave of his hand. "Nothing's going to-"

As I adjust my position in the room, I see a flicker from the turtle's eyes. As he stops, he more directly faces where my spirit invisibly lies.

"He sees you from the corners of his eyes," Wormwood whispers. I feel its presence as I am part of it. I agree. He saw me out of the corners if his eyes, as many of the living claim to.

They could not see me watch them before for I was a single apparition. Now I am a collective presence. Now I am part of Wormwood. I can feel this supernatural power flow from my center, expel to the air around me. Strong chi should pick it up...

"What, Michelangelo?" Leonardo questions with a skeptical raised brow.

"I thought I saw someone!" the turtle gasps.

Almost immediately all four turn abruptly toward me. I stare back, cold and unmoving. I had never expected to have my presence being aware and my living instincts are still embedded within me. I worry. I can only imagine that I had been seen by my mortal enemies.

"Yeah, too many scary movies, Mikey," the normally quiet Donatello quips. He smiles teasingly toward his brother before turning around, the others following his example and moving on their way toward the kitchen.

I know this habit of their's. It is a regular ritual in which they all ravaged their cabinets for snacks upon returning home. I can feel relieved once more. I realize they did not see me.

"You have nothing to fear," the rest of Wormwood croaks. "They cannot see you. You do not exist to them."

I wish to be within the kitchen with them and, immediately, I, and Wormwood, appear in their blissful mists.

Looking around myself, I feel enraged. Wormwood is correct. I am completely before them, here to remind them of my demise, to haunt them with my dying soul. Despite my plans, however, they are completely unaware of my trials of Limbo.

As they open the cabinets and laugh, opening up the cabinets, I feel my rage expel once more. I feel my anger leave me, as if it is a separate entity, then it overcomes me like a fireball. I can see only my death at their hands. I can see only my hatred of them.

I tremble with this rage.

The kitchen trembles along with me.

The turtles pause their habits and stare at each other, grabbing to countertops to level themselves. Michelangelo stares with widened eyes toward the glass on the shelves. He flinches as soon as one glass falls from its position and shatters on the countertop by Leonardo.

I feel myself become very amused with this sight and laugh, my anger fading like a willow wisp and the tremors simultaneously ending. I realize the power I had just demonstrated was in fact mine.

No. It was Wormwood's.

"The shell?" Raphael hisses as he regains his balance.

"Anyone else thinking _'The Amityville Horror'!?_" Michelangelo squeaks.

"Not now, Mikey," Leonardo sighs as he rubs his temples. He is filled with an anger of his own. He cannot stand for phenomenon he cannot control. "I have a headache."

"What else was it, then?" Michelangelo presses, looking around wildly once more. His brothers are assuming this is to assess the damage. I know that he is, in fact, searching for another glimpse of me. He wants to confirm my fault.

"Subways must be getting some work done on them," Donatello sums up as he bends over to see how much of the shattered glass is on the ground. "Raph, can you get me the broom and dust pan?"

I take in their movements, how they work to fix and asses their current issue.

I feel proud.

"You shouldn't," whispers Wormwood to me. "You should not have ended so soon."

A burning feels my chest and I glare into the image before me. I know that Wormwood is correct. **I **am correct.

Next time shall not end with a broken glass.

...

A/N: Fleshing out the storyline I conceived. Have some patience with this one please!

Feedback appreciated.


	3. Haunted

I am REALLY rushing this story, I know, but I want to have this finished before Halloween. I have the inkling of a suspicion that once this festive season is over I won't be very inspired to write for this one anymore. That'd be a shame.

The reason of Wormwood's name and what's going on shall be answered soon.

TMNT, characters © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**Wormwood  
**Chapter Three

I watch as Michelangelo adjusts himself on the couch, laying himself out like the filthy slob he is. He makes my very skin crawl. They **all** cause my skin to crawl. I cannot tolerate them. They humiliate me at their every breath. Now I watch as he begins to sleep, doze off, dream.

By far it is this brother which is the most aware of Wormwood. He seems to sense the external, unaffiliated Chi in the room. He is also the most fearful.

As he should be.

It shall be this turtle who shall be my first victim. I will cause him to rue the day he joined his brothers in becoming my murderer.

I shall make them **all** pay for my dishonor, my curse, my limbo.

But I must question as I approach his sleeping form how I will be capable of this revenge when my touch slides through him like a thin vapor through a net. I cannot touch him. I cannot harm him. I cannot even recall how I shook their home.

Wormwood does, however. Trusting it, I can have the same knowledge as Wormwood, the same power.

"Reach into his dreams," Wormwood whispers, "and churn his contentment into misery."

I am a vapor yet, as I reach into his mind, I can see my own hand reach through him. I have entered his dreams. His expression falls and screws into an almost pained visage. I grin and can begin to twist myself into his dreams. I watch him squirm.

"Wh-wh..." he mutters, though I cannot tell if it is aloud or within his mind.

"Who?" I grin. "I. You know me."

His face becomes confused. He does not recognize me? **Me** his victim? His enemy?

I snarl. "I am Wormwood!" I hiss. When he does not react I recall that he does not recognize this title. I clarify. "I am Saki."

Within his dream he blinks cluelessly. I feel enraged once more at his forgetfulness. Does he not see who I am? Does he not remember? Barbaric beast!

He will suffer for this.

I remove myself from his dreams but Wormwood does not. Not all of Wormwood at least.

He begins tossing and turning upon the couch, suffering horrors beyond my level of originality. He lets out a muffled cry and I laugh at his pain for I know that his brothers are not near, they will not be coming to wake him anytime soon.

No, I can go after them all individually.

Thinking of this, I am suddenly no longer within their living room. I am now in their bathroom, blended with the thick steamed vapors rising and flowing through the miserable excuse of a lavatory. The steam is thick as a fog and the ringing of the water against the tiles of the shower fill the area.

I grin as I recognize that I am in the presence of Raphael.

Wormwood is with me as the sound of the stopping shower begins to overtake the ringing. I am thinking of what I can do for this brother.

"You are one with the power," Wormwood reminds me. I know this already. "Chill him."

An excellent concept.

Raphael whistles as he throws back the shower curtain, revealing his unclothed form. He paid no heed to the suddenly cleared air as he grabbed himself a towel. He is so calm, so collective as he works to rub the towel over his skin, drying his sickening green skin.

He pauses suddenly, erects himself and grows an obscure expression. He is suddenly very cold. I laugh though he cannot hear.

"What the..." he skews his expression and shudders. He is completely confounded.

The abomination looks around himself, gaining the sights of only the room around him. He glowers at the unexplained temperature change and shakes his head. He cannot form an explanation but he refuses to think that the explanation does not exist within his set reality.

Begrudgingly, he quickly finishes drying himself. The temperature lowers further and he releases an animalistic growl before wrapping himself up in his towel. It is not enough to even his discomfort, however.

He steps in front of the mirror to more directly face the doorway.

"Donny!" he yells out repulsively. "Your air conditioner kicked on again! I'm freezin' my shell off in here!"

He begins to take a step back, satisfied that he has determined the root of his problem. He pauses, though, as he hears the distinctive sound of fingers sliding against the wet mirror.

The mutation does not turn immediately to my surprise. He stands there and trembles, placing his hands on his hips as if making a stance against me. But he does not even know that I am here.

Amused, I continue to rub my thumb against the edge of the hung mirror, waiting for his reaction. Wormwood has assured me that I can make this physical interaction despite my state. I **know** I can do it.

He does not turn until the temperature decreases even further, to the point that he is hugging his shoulders and capable of seeing his own breath amidst the catacomb-like air.

Once he turns I begin to do as I had planned to from the beginning.

With my index finger, I break through the frosted layer of the mirror and write at first the kanji "shinda." I wait for his reaction.

He merely stares.

I feel disappointed, I should have known better. Perhaps he is not as well trained in ninjitsu as I thought, not even knowing Japanese. Perhaps the kanji appears too much like running droplets against the glass surface. Perhaps he is too stunned.

I know what shall assure him that this is not an explainable, in living terms, phenomenon, however.

Without losing his attention, I begin to write once more. This time, though, I use English.

I write "WORMWOOD."

Slowly, ever so quietly, Raphael begins to back away. His eyes have widened and his face paled but he is unrelenting in his explanations. He needs them much like a child needs the light to chase away the dark corners of his or her room.

"Mikey... If this is a prank... I-I swear..." he mumbles before shivering under the cold again.

Abruptly, he turns and leaves, squeezing his arms to keep himself from breaking out into an embarrassing run.

I laugh once again to where it hurts.

Raphael reminded me of who I planned to terrorize next. Donatello...

It was this turtle's Bo who delivered the final crushing blow to me. They all are responsible but his strike was the final physical embrace I felt in my mortal body. I never forgot it.

I will never forget how fake his innocence truly is.

Once my thoughts have turned to him, I have found myself appeared before his work area. I can only blink and look about, seeing that he is before me on one of his computers.

He is perfectly content.

I don't intend on allowing him stay like this for long.

Intently, I watch his fingers - those six, green wursts - flying across the keyboard of the computer without so much as a glance to them. He has obviously allowed himself to have the pleasures of technology for far too long.

Wormwood shall place an end to this.

I feel compelled by the manifestation of Wormwood to reach forward and through the computer, much like how I did with the sleeping turtle. I remember in my lifetime hearing of ghosts and spirits captured within technology, communicating through them.

I'm prepared to give this a try.

"Huh?" I hear him question before scratching his head.

I grin for I have caused the entire screen to become a pale blue, eerily basking him in its light. He is confused but not scared.

He's not scared **yet.**

Reaching through him, I begin to type on his keyboard beneath his own fingers. He shivers as I pass through him and then looks shocked down to the moving keys. He leaps out of his chair and looks around, expecting his brothers.

They are not around.

At last, he looks to the screen. His face drops further as he sees the continuing lines repeat, repeat, repeat:

WORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODW  
ORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWORMWOODWO  
RMWOODWORMWOOD...

"What?" he gasps. His face hardens. "Computer virus?"

I roar in anger over the accusation. How **dare** he award my work with a conclusion so rudimentary! In complete disgust, I release the same bellowing rage that had been with me earlier that night, smacking the coffee mug that had been on the table with my hand.

The mug, aiming for his head, nearly makes its mark. The turtle ducks just beneath it and wildly turns around in horror as he sees the smashed remains on the ground. He seems to almost be spinning on his heels to rush out.

One left.

I know where their leader remains. He always stays in their puny, pathetic dojo.

As I appear there, I see that he is upon their meditation mats as usual. He is in lotus position, deeply controlling his spirit, highly aware of the astral plane around him, aware of limbo, aware of **me.**

Wormwood is much too strong to not be seen and while I am Wormwood, I also am not. I am my own being. I am still Saki.

He grows a snarl, one demented by the candlelight, and he opens his eyes, staring through me without seeing. He knows I am there, however. His eyes narrow further.

"I know you're there," he hisses. In meditation he could sense me, he could feel even my false breaths.

I do not wish to be seen, to be known. By being masked in their presence I have power beyond their mortal wills. Without this I feel very real again. I feel very mortal. I feel very vulnerable.

In a rash movement, forgetting Wormwood's plans, I wave my arms strongly, extinguishing the tiny flames.

"You don't scare me," Leonardo explains very flatly.

At this moment, Wormwood releases Michelangelo from his hellish nightmares and he screams upon waking. Leonardo's attention is diverted and he immediately loses much of his focus, glancing toward the doorway.

Wasting little precious time, Leonardo leaps to his feet. He waits a moment, hearing the pattern of feet rushing toward the origin themselves. His other brothers are reaching Michelangelo and catering to his frightened state. Leonardo scowls.

"Who are you?" he whispers.

His attachment to astral plane is strong enough for my utterance to be heard.

I reply.

"Wormwood."

...

A/N: In Japanese "shinda" is "dead." And the entity of Wormwood and the Limbo-bound Saki are one in the same and not all at the same time. It shall be clearer as we progress.

Feedback appreciated.


	4. Invited

This story is going really fast, I know, but I REALLY need to get this done and out of the way before I lose inspiration. Or get to Halloween. I really don't think I'll finish this story if I don't reach the last chapter by Halloween. Sorta pointless by then. So I apologize for the rushed updates. FORTUNATELY we have reached the half way point - four of eight chapters.

Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad there's some other horror fans in the midst of the TMNT fandom.

TMNT, characters © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**Wormwood  
**Chapter Four

More for my own amusement than for anything else, I flicker the lighting to my enemies' disgusting little hole of a home. They are confused and angered by my presence.

Leonardo stands before his brothers with his hands on his hips. He is glaring toward my direction but sorely missing my actual position. Under the stress of this environment I suppose he has lost much of the connection he had to the being of Wormwood that he had in his concentration.

Raphael has his arms crossed and is leering around suspiciously. He agrees with Leonardo's conclusion - that an apparition has joined their midst - but he wants to **see** to believe.

I shall give him his wish at a later date.

Michelangelo is looking about wildly as he holds his hands up to his mouth, wishing to bite his nails but not quite doing such. He had come to the conclusion that they were being haunted long before Leonardo did. He is less interested in the why or how. He simply anticipates my next move with great disdain.

They are all standing around their fourth brother.

Donatello is on the same computer I have just recently released from my hauntings. His fingers, once more, fly across his keyboard. He is researching.

They all find it strange how each of them have encountered a spirit naming itself **Wormwood**.

How little do they know that my plans call for them to encounter Wormwood many times more...

And Saki. Yes. I keep forgetting...

Saki wants his revenge as well, does he not?

Donatello scoots his chair backward and turns to his brothers, a sign that he is content with the knowledge he has obtained. How so very predictable.

In response, the others curiously move forward, enclosing their brother some more and ignoring another flicker of the overhead lights. All except Michelangelo, of course, who looks upward and shutters in response to me shallow amusement.

"What have you found, Don?" Leonardo asks.

"Enough," Donatello replies before using his mouse to click on a few more things.

Curious as to how close the turtle is, I bring myself closer to where the brothers are. I lean forward, going through Raphael's shoulder in the process. He stiffens, looks back and around before glaring back at the screen, putting the interaction off as his imagination.

"Spit it out, Egghead," the boisterous brother demands gruffly.

"Yeah," Michelangelo adds, "before 'Big Dead and Scary' decides to make a return!"

I laugh. Oh, how clueless they are!

"Alright," Donatello begins before pulling up the internet pages he had been reading on.

How vague they are, I can't help but think as I read them for myself.

"It says here that the first thing Wormwood is is a type of Artemisia," he says.

"Amnesia?" Michelangelo questions.

"**Artemisia**," Donatello corrects. "A plant."

"Somehow I seriously doubt that that is the particular definition that we need, Don," Leonardo retorted.

"I know," the somewhat intelligent one admits before bringing up some more pages, "But it's how it got the other meaning of its name. 'Wormwood' also means 'bitterness' or a type of 'grievousness,' and so on and so forth."

"Not the best of company then?" Michelangelo questions.

"I could have told you that without a computer," Raphael growls.

"Is that it, Don?" Leonardo asks once more. "If all we have on this guy is that he is a bitter spirit of an enemy then we might as well be at square one again."

"It certainly doesn't narrow the list any, I know," Donatello continues before bringing up yet another set of pages. "But there is a little bit more on exactly what it is," he states. "It's in the Bible, the book of Revelations."

Curiously, the others lean forward to read the passage along with their brother as he reads aloud.

"'And the third angel sounded, and there fell a great star from heaven, burning as it were a lamp, and it fell upon the third part of the rivers, and upon the fountains of waters; And the name of the star is **Wormwood**: and the third part of the waters became wormwood; and many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter.' Revelation eight-ten, eleven."

"That's great, Donny," Raphael begins, "But what does it mean to us?"

"Well," Donatello starts as he pulls up yet another page. "Interpretations of this passage are quite various. Some of the more literal explanations state that Wormwood is a meteor or comet which comes to Earth, however," he typed some to find the exact passage on the page, "A few interpretations by scholars claim that the falling of the star is purely symbolic and that the actual coming of Wormwood is more realistic."

"As in?" Leonardo presses.

"During troubled times," Donatello explains, "scholars believe an unquenchable bitterness will fill the world and its people."

"Like our ghost?" Michelangelo questions.

Donatello nods. "If it is a ghost. I still believe that something about this presence isn't really as bland as spirits like we have encountered before. It feels more like a simple accumulation of bitterness, like what this interpretation says."

"And someone's added bitterness," Leonardo summarizes, "is after us for whatever reason."

I scoff.

What simpleminded fools.

"What are we going to do about it?" Raphael asks.

Leonardo closes his eyes thoughtfully, but he has already decided upon his action. I can sense the dread churning in the pit of his stomach.

"I can meditate and reach the astral plane," he states. It is not a suggestion. "I reached the spirit while I was meditating, if I completely focus myself I can contact it. Maybe I could even stop it from continuing this vengeful rampage."

They all stare at him.

"Leo... I don't know about this," Donatello says slowly.

"We don't have many other choices," Leonardo puts down any thoughts the others had of talking him out of his decision. "Perhaps it even wants to contact us. It could be the solution of our problems."

With that, I permanently take out the lighting. I grin inwardly before lighting a single candle over he tatami mat used by the turtle for meditative purposes. They all stare at it.

It is my invitation.

...

A/N: Information out of the way...

Feedback appreciated.


	5. Possessed

Alright, so I'm updating again and I'm sort of admittedly comfortable with this quick little updates. I know there isn't anything overly spectacular about this story or the chapters themselves but I think the breaks and so on really helps with the chill&thrill tactics. So I'll continue them until we reach our last chapter ;P

Once again, thank you for the support! It means a lot!

TMNT, characters © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**Wormwood  
**Chapter Five

Even Leonardo seems taken aback by my obvious offer. He stares at the flickering candlelight intently before growing a harsh scowl. He does not enjoy being out of control. He does not taking to the chaos I had introduced.

The others are horrified to realize that I had not only been in the room with them but had been actively listening to their conversations the entire time. In particular, Donatello seems to shrink backward.

After all, he had been the one talking of my presence the most.

Raphael grabs his leading brother's shoulder firmly and narrows his eyes. "You're not doing this. It's a trap," he says.

Smart turtle.

Leonardo shakes his head. "I know that. It's the only way we can get rid of this spirit, though. If it can interact this strongly with the living world then I don't want to take the chances and ignore it. Someone will get hurt."

Oh, someone shall get hurt, Leonardo. I doubt highly, though, that you shall be able to prevent it.

The logic is there but the other brothers are reluctant.

Still, Raphael releases Leonardo and allows him to make his way to the tatami mats. He is struggling against his instincts to protect his brothers. Some half-conceived concept of honor keeps him from arguing much further with Leonardo.

Shame.

This would be much more entertaining could I only drive them further apart.

"Don, get to work on the lighting," Leonardo orders as he lowers into lotus position and closes his eyes. "Raph, keep an eye out for anything suspicious in the room's aura. Mike, I want you to monitor me."

They all immediately file off to perform their duties, still silently skeptical of the entire plan.

But my invitation has been taken and I wait.

With a collective breath, Leonardo begins his silent meditation. His remaining brothers watch him closely, worriedly.

They have every reason to be worried.

"Careful, Bro," Michelangelo whispers, though Leonardo is beyond the state of response.

He is sitting on the mat while standing before me, staring at me at the same time. He is on the astral plane beside me.

The turtle's face screws tighter into a possibly even harder expression. He is looking me over, scrutinizing my every fiber. His face hardens more and more as he completes his observations.

He does not recognize me.

"Have you been such a monster to so many people in your lifetime, mutant, that you do not recognize the horrors you caused me to suffer?" I demand.

He is quiet, studying me again. He shakes his head.

"I can't tell who you are," he says assertively. "You don't have a form."

Liar! I snarl at this insolent statement.

"I am your old enemy!" I snap.

He remains quiet for a moment. He stares at me again before shaking his head. "You'll have to be more descriptive than that."

I pause now. I shall tell him my name. This is what he is wanting me to say. I simply... must remember it is all. My name.

"I am Wormwood," I say hissingly.

"So I've heard," Leonardo retorts before narrowing his eyes. "But who were you while you were living?"

"Many people," I answer.

He shakes his head. "What enemy of ours?"

I take another moment or so before recollecting, ever so faintly, the answer needed. "I am Oroku Saki," I reply.

He does not seem convinced. In fact, he seems certain of the opposite. He shakes his head yet again before crossing his arms. He will not budge on this certain issue.

"You can't be Oroku Saki," he determines. "We charred his remains and placed his ashes at rest. He is resting."

His eyes narrow. "You are an unrested spirit."

I bare my teeth before phasing out of the astral plane. "You do not believe me, Animal? Well, then! I shall prove my existence to you and your ignorant family!" I swear. "You shall all pay for all of this that is happening!"

"What is happening!?" he demands but it is too late.

I am now standing in Limbo, looking upon his mortal, soulless form. I enter.

His body convulses at my entrance and I blink through his putrid eyes. I stare at his younger brother who is right beside me in great concern at the body's sudden movements. He does not realize what is going on.

"Leo? You okay?" Michelangelo questions weakly.

I narrow his eyes and snarl at him. He is touching his brother's shoulders but I can feel his touch as if he was daring to touch **me!**

Raphael, the one whose spiritual essence was doing its best to be aware of the ever changing auras of the room stares at me, his brother's body and his eyes widen in realization of what has happened.

"MIKEY, NO!" he roars before bolting toward us.

Without a moment to lose, I grab the turtle's disgusting wrist and twist it with all my might. He was not expecting it and screams at the cracking of his bones. He backs away the best he can before Raphael shoves him from my reaches.

I laugh and feel **alive** again! I grab the ninjaken strapped to the turtle's shell and horrified expressions grow on Raphael and Michelangelo's faces. They don't know what to do.

Suddenly, I feel myself grow cold and numb again. From beneath my own fingertips, the turtle's body falls from my spirit's form and strikes the floor harshly, unconsciously. I hiss at the occurrence.

I did not realize I could only stay within another's body for so long...

The correct aura fills the vessel and the turtle groans, still unable to move under the tremendous stress his body had overcome while suppressing the incorrect spirit.

"Leo!" they yell, realizing it is him, before reaching their brother's sides, shaking him gingerly.

The lights come on and they look around, realizing their brother succeeded, before becoming horrified to see that in their distracted moments, the rest of Wormwood had written his name over their sacred meditation room's walls.

A/N: Ghosts and ghouls. Yup. Definately.

Feedback appreciated.


	6. Forgotten

Well, I warned that the updates would be pretty rapid. Thanks for sticking through them, though! Three chapters left to wrap this story up!

Thanks to all the readers and reviewers!

TMNT, characters © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**Wormwood  
**Chapter Six

I did not expect this change to come about after I had possessed one of the turtles' bodies.

I had imagined that I would be rejuvenated both by experiencing life once more and by using my enemy as a host in order to enact my revenge upon him and his siblings. I did not expect to feel the way I do now. I am exhausted.

No, the weak Leonardo is exhausted. I am no longer enthused.

I feel as though I was weaker, more vulnerable in that form the more I reflect upon my time in it. Touch, breath, smell, taste, there was too much all at the same time. I could not take in each feeling and appreciate it again. There were too many distractions for me to fully work my energy on.

I, in the least, am faring better than the turtle.

I watch, very half-heartedly, as his brothers cover his back with a thick blanket in hopes of subsiding his trembling body. They have already carried him to the living room and sat him upon the family couch to try to support him. I suppose my possession of his physical form had affected him worse than I had originally thought.

His body continues to attempt to fold over into itself again and it is taking all of his concentration to keep this from occurring as well as ensuring that he remained awake.

Donatello reenters the room, gingerly holding a small cup of tea that sends steaming strands of fumes through the air.

"Here, Leo," he whispers patiently before holding the tea out to him. "That'll help some."

The turtle nods and accepts. "Thanks, Don," he says hoarsely. He takes a drink.

"I **told **you that it was a stupid idea," Raphael growls as he crosses his arms, still remaining close to his brother's vicinity in case anything should happen to him. "That 'harmless ghost' snapped Mike's wrist!"

Leonardo bows his head guiltily. "I know."

Michelangelo rubs his now tightly bandaged wrist. "It didn't break, though - just sprained according to Donny," he reminded Raphael.

"Raph is right, though," Leonardo coughs. "I shouldn't have... have accepted the offer."

Donatello pulls up a chair before sitting in it. "We need to think about our guest more clearly. We at least have new information on him."

I wonder what they have learned.

"He seemed convinced that he was Or... Oroku Saki," Leonardo mutters miserably. "He was v-very offended when I doubted that fact... very offended for s-some reason."

"Probably what got you attacked," Raphael hisses.

"Oroku Saki? As in the Shredder?" Michelangelo asks. "But I thought we had laid his remains to rest - like how Master Splinter told us to. You even said it was more of an honor than he deserved, Leo!"

I am confused. Are they speaking of me? Those names... are they mine? They sound familiar... But they are not my names... are they? Why do I feel as though I cannot remember any of this?

Leonardo blinks slowly before nodding. "We did... that's why I didn't believe him."

Don rubs his chin deep in thought. "I think we're trying to use a different concept that what is really happening here," the turtle reveals as he pulls up the same files on the computer from earlier. "We're trying to think of the spirit haunting us and this Wormwood as two separate beings."

"So?" Raphael presses.

"I think maybe it's only one being," he admits. "Everything I've read on the subject of 'Wormwood' says that it is the essence of bitterness. It's not really souls or spirits left to haunt in Limbo, just bitterness." He looks to them more seriously. "Sometimes it even says Wormwood is **regret.**"

"Yeah, Saki regrets something alright," Raphael growls. "He regrets getting his ass kicked by us!"

"R-Raph," Leonardo hisses, glaring at his brother the best he can. He drinks some more of his tea and exhales, feeling better, feeling freer from the icy grips his body was trapped in.

"Yeah, dude, he might hear you!" Michelangelo warns.

I remain confused. This Saki will hear them? Is he here? Is he yet another disembodied spirit I cannot see in this Limbo?

"What about this Wormwood thing, though, Don?" Michelangelo continues, looking to his brother curiously. He frowns. "Why is it after us if it's not got anything to do with the Shredder?"

Why **am** I after them?

Donatello shakes his head. "I didn't say it had nothing to do with the Shredder, just that it's probably not his actual soul," he explains. "I've read one paranormal encounter on this documented site that lists occasions where bitter, temporary spirits claiming to be 'Wormwood' have attacked people after they witness a recent death."

"What circumstances?" Raphael questions.

"Murderers and assassins claiming to be haunted by their kills, there are even some witnesses to accidents who claim a 'Wormwood' have come after them, claiming that they did not do enough to save the late victims," Don concludes. "People usually believe that these encounters are just the conscience egging on the people. But maybe... Maybe when someone dies there **is** a force that remains on Earth to try to keep them in memory."

The turtles look at one another carefully.

"Why claim to be Saki then?" Raphael prods.

Donatello spins in his chair to now face his brothers. "That was what I was wondering, but I have a theory. What if when this Wormwood apparition wishes to avenge these spirits, it actually takes the spirit's place - believes it is the spirit - believing it IS the Shredder."

"What can we do to stop this then?" Leonardo asks as he puts down his tea, much more composed now.

"Haven't you ever seen movies?" Michelangelo squeaks as he bites the nails of his good hand. "There's nothing we CAN do!"

"Knock it off," Raphael hisses.

Donatello sighs. "I don't know, Leo," he admits with a faint scowl. "I feel like this should be prevented somehow, but we can only take assurance from previous cases of 'Wormwood,'" he states.

"Why's that?" Raphael questions.

"Because they always say that after a while," Donatello explains, "that 'Wormwood' slows down... and fades away. Like it breaks away from its own bitterness after a while."

They all harden their expressions.

"How long usually?" Leonardo asks.

"Varies," Don expresses.

I have had enough of this! They believe that I will simply leave them? I am not done toying with these turtles just yet! I am not! I look about and see that the lights are on once more.

I grin.

Let us see how they feel about my presence when I plunge them into darkness yet again! I will the lights to turn off with all the rage for them I can muster...

They look up as only a single light flickers...

A/N: Coming toward the conclusion~

Feedback Appreciated.


	7. But Mostly

I cannot suppress how happy I would be if I finished this story by Friday. I mean, seriously, it'd be a record for me. No joke. Well, you all should know. It's taken me three years for Secrets of the Past and so on. What a shame. Oh, well. At least I'm doing better with updates nowadays.

Thanks to the readers for sticking with me even in these random, fast updates! We have two chapters left!

TMNT, characters © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**Wormwood  
**Chapter Seven

It is well past midnight and into the waning morning hours as I pace furiously about the room. I do not understand why I am fading. Did I honestly break myself, my power, my connection to reality so quickly that in these few hours I am already beginning to lose touch.

I want to haunt. I want to let them know that I am still in existence! That they will never be capable of forgetting me!

But I do not even remember any longer who 'me' is...

Not that I have yet to leave my mark upon the turtles' consciousness for it is early in the morning and not a one of them have yet to gain any rest. They are all sitting in their living room, staring at the single flickering light.

Earlier I shook their home and haunted their nightmares. Right now I am capable of doing little more than flicker a single light, though I will myself to extinguish the light throughout the entire home.

Leonardo brushes off his shoulders, his eyes moving steadily back and forth across the room. He has recovered at last from his body's exhausted state and is now fully capable of keeping tabs on my presence.

Raphael joins him in the silent vigil.

I feel scrutinized yet I long to be more recognized by the living all at the same time.

Nothing I aspire for is being realized.

I need at least one last act to assure that I will never be forgotten. Simply one.

Donatello continues to type away, now at his laptop, in the living room alongside his brothers. "It's almost more scary when you think about it from Wormwood's perspective, you know," he speaks up, breaking the stoic silence.

Raphael looks up and glares at his brother. "Do explain, Donny," he hisses sarcastically.

"It is," Donatello urges before looking to all of them. "Imagine being stuck between two worlds - not able to move on to one, not able to properly take advantage of the other. It's almost as if it is pleading for attention. Like the spirits simply want us who are living to recognize that they are there."

Leonardo scowls. "It is no excuse to intervene upon the lives of the living, though, Don," he reminds his brother.

Michelangelo sits quietly among his brothers, easing back against the couch, moving forward again. He twists and squirms with something he cannot seem to express. I question what it could possibly be when he makes a near unreadable face toward his brothers and cross his feet one over the other.

Not taking notice of Michelangelo's behavior, Raphael pauses his stride and scowls at his brothers. "You know what I think?" he questions before looking up to the air. "I think that this so called spirit is a **coward** trying to use scare tactics because he's too chicken to move on!"

I clinch my fist... only to feel that it is not there.

I am fading.

My anger peaks and I roar at myself in aggravation at my own transparency when, at last, a tremor breaks through their reality. A small one, it is only strong enough to capture my enemies' attention. They look up.

"Raphael!" Leonardo hisses. "Do not open ourselves to its rage."

"And it's not a spirit, not really," Donatello reminds them. "We're still talking about Wormwood. It's a manifestation."

"Whatever," Raphael hisses.

"I have to use the bathroom," Michelangelo at last spoke up.

All at once, their wary eyes fell upon their brother as the reason behind his strange behavior is revealed.

"Then go, Mike," Raphael grunts.

Michelangelo blinks before squirming in his seat further. He twitches uncomfortably. "You want me to go alone?"

Slowly, Leonardo takes his turn to blink. "You want one of us to go with you?"

Closing his laptop, Donatello looks to his younger brother. "I'll go with you, Mike," he assures his brother before getting up. He gives his brother a comforting smile. "No big deal."

Michelangelo nods and hurriedly jumps up before rushing toward the bathroom with great anticipation.

I grin. They have given me my opportunity.

I follow but not before faintly overhearing the conversation between the remaining two.

"Don't you know they're going to be targets?"

"I know... I've got a plan..."

I appear in the bathroom just as Michelangelo does.

He closes the door quickly, at last separating himself from his brother and opening himself to my presence. He runs to the stall area and begins to relieve himself, a perfect cover up as I slowly reach forward with my nonexistent hands and turn the knobs of the sink.

The water runs cold, chilling the room much as I had done to his other brother before him. I grin.

Simply looking to the door, I lock it. He will not be escaping me anytime soon.

He lets out a small noise and I realize that he has just now realized what trouble he is in. I laugh; he has given the chilling air just enough time to frost over the mirrors. I am going to enjoy this so very much.

With a flare of my anger, I release the energy deep within my gut and immediately the shower curtain rod, with curtain, strikes the floor, causing him to scream.

"MIKEY!?" his brother yells from outside, shaking the doorknob. It is locked.

Michelangelo backs up beside the toilet paper dispenser which I begin to roll on its holder, causing the paper to fly up.

He screams again and pulls out his chucks, waving them wildly through the air. He rushes to back up against the sink as he realizes how foolish his attacks are.

I begin my writing on the mirrors once more. Same as last time.

"Shinda" draws itself upon the frosted window time and time again, and his jaw drops in horror as he backs off.

"MIKEY!" Raphael roars before the sound of him kicking the door down distracts me.

Without a moment's pause, Michelangelo runs back out, rushing to Donatello's side. Raphael stays at the door, stunned by the spinning toilet paper, fallen curtain, and the running water. And the cold. The mind numbing cold.

Leonardo does not hesitate in the least.

He rushes in past his brother and rather than draw a sword, he nears the mirror and holds out his index finger. He has a determined look upon his face before he draws a kanji of his own on the frosted mirror.

I screech, even they can hear my noise as I am pushed away from them. My physical hold breaks and all falls apart. Everything I had attempted to keep myself in touch with reality is falling through my vaporized fingers. I am nothing!

Yet I can still observe.

The others slowly near their brother as he stares at the mirror.

"What'd you do?" Raphael demands.

Leonardo frowns some more. "I wrote another kanji... 'heiwa,'" he explains. He lowers his hand as Donatello and Michelangelo come in closer to look. "'Peace'..."

A/N: One more chapter~

Feedback Appreciated


	8. Wormwood

Well, a day late is better than nothing. I had to take the ACT this morning so I "studied" last night for it and didn't get to write much of anything. We're at the final chapter of this short little fic, though. I really enjoyed doing something spontaneous for once. I should do it more often.

Hope everyone got a small scare!

TMNT, characters © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**Wormwood  
**Chapter Eight

As the days wore on I realized that the turtles had been correct in their analysis and while I am bitter and discontent that they came to realize my purpose in life before I remembered it, I feel incredibly disinterested in pursuing my haunting of them.

For now.

Wormwood.

I am a fickle "manifestation," as they so called me. I have no reason for my bitterness, though I glower at the world and wait for an explanation. Some fallen spirits will always give me a new haunt, a new memory to keep alive.

Judging by the lives these turtles lead, I shall probably haunt them many more times as duty so calls.

In my enlightened time, where I am simply Wormwood and no other spirit but myself, I have a simulation of what the eldest turtle gave me: peace.

Usually I spend this time scowering the lands for my new vengeful strike, but now I am curious.

Instead I am still in this putrid lair and watching these abominations as they slowly ease out of their own worries. They are so sure that Wormwood is gone and will no longer be haunting them. In my bitterness I wish I could prove them wrong.

They are cleaning incessantly from that Halloween marathon they had only a few hours before. They wanted to have one last bash before their father's return.

They ended up not going to the Haunted House for some reason.

I wish I could take more interest in their activities but they are being so mind numbingly dull at this instant that I fear I may fade out of this home again before I ever get a chance to see if I am mentioned again.

If I leave before they speak about my haunting then I fear I have failed my mission to be remembered.

Thus far they have spoke not a word of me.

It is not too long into their cleaning that the sewer door opens and they all tiredly, still excitedly, turn to see their rat master enter the lair. He is content to see them and they are all happy as well.

Not at all interesting to the mind of a ghost such as myself. I simply roll my eyes for the most part and observe.

They approach and then embrace their father. He returns the sentiment.

"Did you have a safe ride home, Master?" Leonardo asks.

"I did, my sons," the master chuckled in agreement.

"You came home awfully early, Sensei," Donatello points out.

Raphael crosses his arms and grins. "Missed us that much?"

"More like he missed **me** that much!" Michelangelo explodes before squeezing their father, causing the rat to laugh warmly.

Sobering up some, Master Splinter composes himself and looks to his sons wearily. "A father's intuition told me that my sons were in some sort of trouble," he said very seriously. "I wished to believe your phone calls were true when you told me you were all fine, but I sensed mischief unlike any other in the air."

They all look to each other uneasily.

"Ah," the old rat says as he examines their reactions. "So I take that I was not acting upon the silly impulses of an aging and concerned parent."

Leonardo frowns. "Not exactly, Master," he admits.

"We had... a bit of an encounter," Raphael adds.

"Of the **nether worldly **kind," Michelangelo concludes with a nod.

"We dealt with it, though," Don assures his father. "Leo put the thing to peace."

The master rubs his chin as he hums to himself over the information. He looks from one son to the other and releases a breath.

"I sense a fading, embittered spirit among us, ancient and youthful all at the same time. Powerful and faded, full of its own contradictions yet refuting the concept that peace can be achieved by releasing those emotions which once made it so strong," he examines me. "A Wormwood."

"How did you know?" Leonardo questions.

The rat chuckles. "Many years of dealing with the unusual," he replies.

"I never could figure out why though," Raphael inserts himself into the conversation again. "I mean, why hang on if you're that miserable?"

Splinter hums to himself again and looks to his son. "Perhaps a sense of immortality that does not truly exist, Raphael, would be the best explanation," he informs his son. "One's body cannot live forever, but this Wormwood believes that by living the lost lives of others then it is maintaining its own legacy, truly becoming immortal by never allowing any of us who are living to forget it."

The father steps closer to his home. "If one does not seek the abyss in life, the abyss shall seek him in death." He does not look back as he carries on toward the kitchen. "Now come my sons, you may resume your cleaning after we enjoy a meal."

They breathe easier and follow their father, assured that explanations have been made and a haunting is no longer any of their concerns.

The rat is correct.

I am engulfed by my emotions and desires. I will move on from this haunting to the next without fault.

However, at least to these turtles, I shall always be remembered.

I am Wormwood.

...

A/N: Happy Halloween!


End file.
